


Unwelcome Home

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [51]
Category: Vikings - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, adorable children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan finds the Kattegat he and Ragnar have returned to isn't quite the one they left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwelcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the beginning of 3x05

Kattegat was but a distant, mist-obscured bit of color on the horizon at the far end of the fjord, and yet Athelstan could already feel the change in Ragnar's spirit as it darkened and roiled like the rain clouds that had begun gathering over the village.

Their last moments together in Wessex had been rushed, what with the necessity of packing and formal farewells to their hosts. Judith, he had noticed, kept trying to meet his eye even while Aethelwulf stood right beside her, and she held their mewling child in her arms. Aethelwulf, to his relief, seemed not to notice this, but Aelle, Judith's father, had. Athelstan was too far away to hear the words the Northumbrian king hissed in his daughter's ear, but going by how she paled and stepped back, they must have been harsh indeed.

Ecbert had seemed the most sorry to see his former pet scribe leave his kingdom—and not a little angry. He pressed one last, unwelcome hug on Athelstan before Ragnar—bless him—intervened with a manufactured excuse of needing some help with a pack of supplies. Lagertha, idling nearby, got the brunt of Ecbert's reaction to this, finding her own self in a tight clinch that made her grunt uncomfortably. Soon, however, all the company of the North were back on their ships, sailing east with the continuing rise of the mid-morning sun.

The journey itself had been uneventful. They slept side-by-side, the close quarters on the ship making such intimacy largely unremarkable. Once, while huddling under a pile of furs to block a sharp night's wind, Ragnar even managed to sneak a hand into Athelstan's breeches as the rest of the ship's occupants slept. Though panicking somewhat at the potential of being discovered and feeling he might burst from the struggle to stay silent, Athelstan nonetheless welcomed the release, and returned the favor the next night. Ragnar slept more soundly after that than he had the entire journey.

Soon enough, however, they were back in home waters, the fleet's sails taut as they sped toward the village. The closer they got, the more agitated Ragnar became, and the more Athelstan had to work to placate and distract him, telling him stories and folklore from his home country, and giving descriptions of some of the distant places he had visited as a missionary. He had told Ragnar these stories before, of course, but as with a parent repeatedly singing a beloved song to soothe a young child to sleep, these favorite tales calmed Ragnar, enough so that by the time the ship had come to dock, meeting the shore just as the threatened rain began to pour down, he was nearly jovial. Athelstan knew the look on Ragnar's face, however: Something he had told the man this time had sparked an idea, and it was one he was likely to pursue to its end, given the slightest chance.  

No sooner had they tied up and set foot on land, however, but what pleasant feeling Ragnar had disappeared.

"Where are the boys?" he hissed, almost to himself, as they helped an injured shieldmaiden off the boat.

Athelstan scanned the gathered crowd. There were children there, indeed, but none of them stood near Aslaug—none were Ragnar's. With a sudden feeling of having swallowed a large stone, Athelstan tried his best to busy himself with the wounded while Ragnar stalked up to his wife. As he overheard the conversation between she and Rollo—Siggy, dead saving the boys—the stone in his gut grew larger. They had never been especially close, he and the former earl's wife, but they had treated each other with respect. She even seemed to give her blessing to the short time her daughter had shown an interest in the Christian, before the plague stole the sweet young woman from both of them. He glanced across the dock. Lagertha, for her part, also looked stricken, and he could not tell whether it was tears or rain that streamed down her face.

As Ragnar followed Rollo, his wife on his heels, Athelstan rose, meaning to join them.

"I would not."

"What?" He looked back across the dock.

Lagertha shook her head. "This is not our matter to pursue," she said plainly, but with a hint of tightness in her voice. She rubbed the back of a blood-stained hand against her cheek, leaving a streak of pink behind. "Stay with me. We can do far more good here."

He knew she was right. With a final, forlorn look at the path Ragnar had disappeared down, he crouched again, adjusting the bandage around the shieldmaiden's leg.

Hours later, the ill and wounded were all finally patched up enough to limp or be carried back to their homes or the healer's. He felt filthy and tired. The rain was finally petering out as the sun went down, and a chill soon went through his wet clothes, seemingly to his bones. Freed by her last patient's refusal to use her as a crutch, Lagertha wiped her hands on her breeches and strolled up to him.

"Come," she said gently. "We should go get warm."

They arrived in the Great Hall to see Floki and Helga sat by the fire, taking in a meal. Floki glanced up, giving him a sour smile. Helga gave him a warmer one. Rollo and Bjorn were absent, as was Aslaug, Athelstan noted. Ragnar, however, looked as pleased as he ever did, sitting on the dais near his throne while his young sons did their best to make a considerable racket and climb their father like a mountain. When the new arrivals came in, the boys turned to see who was at the door.

"Athelstan!" Ubbe cried. Hvitserk, too, leapt up and scurried toward him. Sigurd, having mastered running while they were away, dashed after them as fast as his little legs could go. Ivar could be heard from the cradle box nearby, burbling a soft song only he knew. It was a pleasing sound—far more so than the pained squalls that had been his constant utterances before. Indeed, the child seemed happy, and Athelstan wondered what had happened to help the poor babe feel better.

"Hello, boys!" He smiled as they crowded around him, hugging his legs. Again, the pangs hit. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a child of his own? And yet in many ways, he was seen by these children as another parent, albeit one who wasn't present for all of their young years.

Lagertha chuckled softly, and went to get some food and join Floki and Helga at the fire.

Trailing children, Athelstan strolled over and sat down next to Ragnar. Ubbe went back to trying to climb onto his father's shoulders and Hvitserk resumed banging on the stairs with a stick. Sigurd, however, climbed into Athelstan's lap and commenced tugging gently at his beard.

"They've missed you," Ragnar said, his eyes lit up with a genuine smile.

"So it would seem!" Athelstan winced as the toddler yanked a little hard. "As I have missed them. I am pleased to see they are well."

"They are, yes." Ragnar sounded immensely relieved. "No thanks to . . . Well, never mind that."

For a few wonderful minutes, they merely sat there, chatting and playing with the children, both answering question after question about their time in Wessex. Ubbe demanded to know when he, too would be old enough to sail west, and was soundly disappointed to learn he still had many years left to wait. As time went on, Sigurd's curious squirming slowed, and his hand dropped into his lap. Resting his head against Athelstan's chest, he closed his eyes and his breathing deepened. Athelstan clutched him close, while Ragnar gazed contentedly at them both.

Far too soon, the door banged open again, and Aslaug strode in, her face a mask of worry, anger, and, it seemed, guilt. "Boys!" She cried on seeing them. "Come! It is time for bed."

The eldest two made noises of discontent, quickly silenced by the glare their mother aimed at them. Sigurd woke with a start, and began to cry. She strode over, tugging him by the hand out of Athelstan's lap. "Take your brother to our room," she ordered Ubbe and Hvitserk, who complied, helping the half-asleep boy make his way across the hall.  

"Good night," Athelstan said, waving at them as they left, their faces fallen much as he figured his own was.

Aslaug leaned over the cradle box, picking up Ivar and holding him close while he chattered contentedly. She turned to Ragnar. "Well? Are you coming?"

Ragnar stared at her. "Uh, I would like to spend more time here with—"

"You have had the past several weeks with the people in this room. Come spend time with your family," she ordered.

"I was," he protested. But he got up. He looked back at Athelstan, smiling sadly. "I will see you in the morning."

Athelstan nodded. "Of course. Good night, Ragnar. And you, too, Aslaug." He gave her what he hoped was a welcoming smile, with no trace of the creeping anxiousness that churned in his belly.

She ignored him, striding away with her son in her arms, Ragnar shuffling behind her. It had felt wonderful to be with the boys again, and yet, Athelstan reminded himself, the children were not his. They did not belong to him by either natural or legal right, and never would. Granting permission for her husband to be with his lover was generous to begin with. Aslaug would never truly grant permission for the outsider to parent her sons.

"Get some food and come join us." Lagertha's tone was considerably more welcoming.

"Yes, please do! It's been so long since I have seen you!" Helga smiled broadly, ignoring the grunt from her scowling husband.

"All right, then." Athelstan rose and made his way to the food table, but not without one last glance at the door. He had made his choice to return to Kattegat, believing—with reason—that this was where he truly belonged. Yet in his absence, much had changed. Perhaps, he realized with a shudder, too much.


End file.
